


you know my stop

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Strangers on a Bus, meet weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 08:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8659321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: His name was Dean. He was on his way to work, at an auto-garage. He had calloused hands and he was very warm, as Castiel learned from falling asleep on his shoulder several times.





	

“Hey.”

Castiel felt a firm hand on his shoulder, jostling him.

“Hey man, isn’t this your stop?”

Startling awake, knocking the hand off his shoulder as he jumped and squinted out the window, Castiel shot to his feet. The familiar brick side of the corner bodega down the street from his apartment came into focus as the bus rolled to a stop.

“Shit!”

Grabbing his bag, Castiel nudged past the stranger that had woken him up.

“Thank you!”

Was all he got out, because this was his stop and he was so dead on his feet that he managed to fall asleep in the bus and all he really wanted right now was to curl up in bed with his cat and forget about work.

It was chilly and windy outside as he hopped of the bus at the last second, briefly looking over his shoulder to see the guy in the leather jacket give him a small wave.

Which Castiel didn’t manage to return before the bus rolled on, still groggy and disoriented from his impromptu nap.

-

There were a few benefits to working the grave yard shift that his manager had forcibly suggested to him. There was a small bump up in pay as incentive. There were less customers milling around the store and he appreciated the quiet. And there were actually available seats on the bus at five a.m., unlike the evening rush when he used to get off work at six p.m.

Unfortunately, it seemed that having a seat to sit in after a long overnight shift meant nodding off. Castiel was still adjusting to the one-eighty he’d had to pull with his sleep schedule.

But two stops down from where he got on after work, the guy in the leather jacket got on too.

His name was Dean. He was on his way to work, at an auto-garage. He had calloused hands and he was very warm, as Castiel learned from falling asleep on his shoulder several times.

Castiel also learned that Dean’s hair, usually damp from a shower, smelled like something very typically manly and it made his toes curl.

A shoulder shifted underneath his head and Dean was shaking him awake again.

“Hey, Cas, this is your stop.”

Reluctant to give up the warm and inviting perch, Castiel rubbed his cheek against the smooth leather of Dean’s jacket. As the bus lurched to a complete stop, he was much quicker to get up and grab his bag.

“Have a good day at work, Dean.”

“Bye.”

-

Wednesday’s were difficult. It was a double truck night and everyone was expected to get more work done for it, of course. Because why would the managers schedule an extra person on two-truck night. That would just make sense, and they couldn’t have that.

It wasn’t the worst part about the Wednesday night shift. The fact that Dean didn’t work on Thursday was the worst part.

Castiel had in fact managed to fall into a deep enough sleep that he completely missed his stop one Thursday and was woken up by a very surly bus driven at the end of the line who thought Castiel was homeless and coasting in the luxury of a warm bus.

The bus driver smelled like stale cigarettes when he got too close.

Several months after his shift change, and Castiel was still struggling with his sleep schedule. His only solution was to stay on his feet, gripping the overhead bar as he swayed, to keep his eyes open and wait for his stop.

He missed Dean on Thursday mornings.

-

It’s not like they talked much. Castiel generally slept through about ninety percent of the time that he had spent with Dean on their shared morning bus rides. Oddly, he felt like the knew the man. Castiel always remembered the books that Dean pulled out to read, the music he sometimes shared passing over an ear bud to Cas - sometimes harsh guitar rifts, sometimes cheerful pop beats. Castiel even knew the sweet caramel flavor of Dean’s morning coffee that after several weeks he gave no protest to sharing.

Strangers on the bus shouldn’t be so nice.

Although, maybe Dean wasn’t entirely a stranger anymore.

“Here, you should try this.”

As Dean settled onto the dingy bus seat next to Castiel, Castiel passed a bottle of his favorite hand lotion that helped him immensely during winter. His hands were always dry from cardboard boxes and the harsh cold air didn’t do any favors. Last week, Dean had complained about wussy hand lotions that couldn’t get the job done. Castiel agreed that his hands deserved better, so he had picked up an extra bottle at the end of his shift.

Dean took the bottle and stared at it, reading the label. “What’s this for?”

“That really helps my hands during winter, you should try it.”

“You got this for me?”

It was a dull gray morning and the dull gray slush of early winter rolled by outside covering the dull gray city in a weight that wouldn’t lift until spring, and even though it was so early that it was near black outside, the bus lit in flickering strobes of passing orange street lights, Dean’s eyes were always bright.

“Yeah.”

Castiel couldn’t think of much else to say. He needed something for his dry tongue too, apparently.

Face splitting into a smile entirely too enthusiastic for a bottle of hand lotion, Dean slung an arm across Castiel’s shoulder and slapped his back.

“Thanks, man. Seriously. You’re awesome.”

Shrugging, Castiel leaned back into the crook of Dean’s arm and rested against him. Maybe he was just used to napping on the bus by now and had no incentive to stay awake if it meant being closer to Dean.

“You’ve saved me a lot of trouble of missing my stops in the morning.”

Dean hummed, breathing gentle under Castiel’s head.

“When do you get off work?”

It was the first time Castiel had thought to ask. Winter days were long and bleak.

“Uh. Five, usually.”

“I wakeup at four. Maybe, we could meet up for breakfast? Or, dinner I guess.”

Dean’s arm around his shoulder curled a little closer, fingers brushing along the curve of Castiel’s arm, so light that he almost doubted feeling it through his thick wool coat.

“Sure. Where do you want to meet?”

“Well, you already know my bus stop.”

In the quiet drowsy hush of the bus, Dean’s laugh filled the space.

“Yeah, I do.”


End file.
